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He uses his own hand to guide my actions. It’s comical, the size of him in my grip. My fingers can barely close around him.

  His breathing grows more rapid. He places his hand on the top of my head, pushing me up and down.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this, that I’ve become such a sudden sex kitten.

  He lifts his hips, face pulled tight, my bare breasts swinging lightly to and fro in my flannel PJs, my pussy hot and wet.

  I pump his thick shaft harder, sucking with everything I have, determined to bring about his release.

  And boy do I get it.

  Carter

  The meet with the new Canucks goes well the following night. I expected friction, but the team seemed happy enough to have me around, even let me onto the ice for a bit of back-and-forth. Williams looked pleased enough.

  I arrive home late, but can’t resist picking up Wren before I head back to the Oatville Ice Palace.

  I switch on the rink lights. “Remember this place?”

  Wren looks around, hands in her jacket pockets. “Wow, it hasn’t changed a bit. It even smells like sweaty underwear still.”

  I grab her from behind, sniffing her neck, her tight ass against my cock. “That smell is beautiful.”

  She spins around in my grip, hands on my chest. “You are beautiful.”

  I nod to the rink. “You want to?”

  “Skate?” she laughs. “I haven’t put on a pair of skates in years.”

  I head over to the rental counter, running through the skates racked up. “What were you, an eight, right?”

  “You’ve got a good memory.”

  “How could I forget? I can’t tell you how many lonely nights I spent dreaming about you inside.”

  “I do not want to hear about your spank bank.”

  I select a pair of eights, placing them on the counter. “Another time then.”

  She goes to take them. I pull them back. “You haven’t paid, miss.”

  Her head drops towards her shoulder. “If you’re looking for a blowjob, you’re fresh out of luck.” She looks down. “My jaw’s still a sore from trying to pack away Wilson last night.”

  I tap my lips. “A kiss will suffice.”

  She leans over the counter. I reach up and take her face, pressing my tongue deep into the warm recess of her mouth, savoring the candy sweetness beyond that’s turning my cock to steel.

  Panting, she looks down. “At least you didn’t forget your hockey stick.”

  I wink. “Skate first, puck later.”

  She pushes herself off me, running off with skates in hand. “You’ll have to catch me first, Crusher.”

  She runs laughing to the ice, stopping by the bench to lace up her skates.

  I take a seat beside her, calmly putting on my own.

  “Damn it,” she says, struggling to get her foot in, her ass rounded out in her jeans as she lifts a leg up. “I don’t remember this being so hard.”

  I laugh back and grab my crotch. “It’s not the only thing hard around here.”

  “With one-liners like that, it’s no wonder they locked you up.”

  “Low blow.”

  With an ‘uh,’ one skate slips on. She’s puffing from the effort.

  In contrast, my foot slips easily into the boot.

  She finishes lacing up the second. “No, this is a low blow.” She shoves me off the bench. “First to the other end of the rink wins.”

  “Wins what?” I shout from the floor—a floor that’s suspiciously sticky.

  The second she hits the ice she goes right over onto her ass, sliding to a stop.

  I skate briskly up to her, pull her to her feet while wiping down her backside, now wet, shards of ice clinging to it.

  “If you wanted to get wet, all you had to do was ask.”

  She shoves me again and powers off, this time with something close to balance.

  I glide up to her with one push—backwards, hovering in front of her.

  She’s panting with the effort. “You’re a real show-off, you know that?”

  “Wouldn’t you if you had my skills?”

  She pushes past me muscling for the other end. “I guess that’s why you’re kicking ass in the NHL then?”

  I whistle. “Man, you are mean tonight. I have to say, though, it’s kind of turning me on.”

  She calls behind her back. “A cold cup of coffee would turn you on.”

  She’s almost at the end. I skate up behind her, crushing her between my erection and the barrier.

  She gives a gasp against the glass, a breathy specter appearing there. I grind up against her backside. “Goal.”

  She turns around between me and the barrier, hooking her hands around my neck. “Careful, I’ve got blades for feet, and given your dick practically drags on the ground…”

  “What, you’re going to go Ramsay Bolton on me all of a sudden?”

  “Wow, a Game of Thrones reference. They let you watch something other than Wentworth in prison?”

  “Touché.”

  She looks past the glass. “Is that it? The thing you drive?”

  “It’s a Zamboni, not a ‘thing.’”

  “I’ll give you a ‘boni’ if you don’t show me what it does.”

  “Alright,” I nod, taking her hand. “Follow me.”

  Once we’re out of the rink, I have her put her shoes back on. I do the same and start the Zamboni up, driving it out onto the ice where she waits, arms crossed.

  I hop down. “Here she is—the finest ice re-surfacer money can buy, though this one is technically an Okay Elektra, made right here in Canada.”

  “That’s like calling a tissue a Kleenex.”

  I laugh. “I reckon I single-handedly kept Kleenex afloat when I hit puberty.”

  She holds my jacket. “Were you thinking about me?”

  “I don’t know,” I tease. “What was our math teacher’s name, Miss. Heckleston? She was pretty hot.”

  “She was in her sixties with a snaggletooth.”

  I shrug. “It was slim pickings.”

  She runs a hand down the front of her pants, a finger hooked into the corner of her mouth. “Is this what you were thinking about while you were jerking off?”

  “We called it ‘cleaning your rifle.’”

  “Choking your chicken?” she retorts.

  “One man tug-o’-war,” I counter.

  “Shaking hands with shorty.”

  “Answering the bone-a-phone.”

  We both laugh.

  “But seriously,” I add. “I could have filled a pool.”

  She breaks away. “Ew.”

  She runs her hand down the side of the machine. “I’ve always wondered what these things do.”

  “Think of it like what a lawnmower is to grass, except for ice.”

  “It’s big.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  She turns around, glaring. “Are you ever not thinking about sex?”

  “Not when you’re around.”

  “So, you going to give me a ride?”

  “On my big lawnmower?”

  “And maybe something else of the large persuasion should you play your cards right.”

  I swing up into the driver’s seat. “You’ll have to clear it with Melanie first.”

  “Who’s Melanie?”

  I tap the steering wheel.

  She shakes her head.

  I shrug. “I’m saving your name for something really special.”

  “Like a Ferrari?”

  “No, like a 1967 Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing but the sexiest god damn vehicle ever made. Here,” I say, reaching down with my hand to help her up. “It’s a little pressed for room up here, so I’m afraid you’ll have to sit on my lap.”

  It sounds like a line, but Wren simply smiles and takes my hand. I lift her up.

  She settles into my lap, my cock growing hard against the warm cushion of her ass.

  “It’s
high,” she says.

  “It is.”

  “Is it hard to drive?”

  “It ain’t a Jeep. “I don’t think people realize how hard it is to drive in a straight line for two-hundred feet, and if you don’t…”

  “That counts me out then.”

  “It requires a steady hand, absolute mechanical precision, and focus.” I try to think of a good analogy. “You wouldn’t hand a scalpel to someone with no medical training, would you?”

  “Have you ever driven one in front of a crowd?”

  I shake my head, very conscious of the way her ass cheeks are enveloping my cock. “With the lights out, music blaring? I don’t think I could do it, in all honesty.”

  “Yet you used to play out there, with crowds.”

  “True,” I nod, smiling at the memory, the indescribable feeling of an entire stadium getting behind you, lifting you up, “but it’s a different kind of concentration. You’ve got to monitor gauges, check flow speeds, water temps, blade levels…”

  She spins around, pivoting on my dick and wrapping her arms around my neck. Her lips are inches away, her eyes heavy with need. “Could you concentrate now?”

  I laugh, my cock giving a little twitch of surprise when she rocks her hips forward, her crotch on fire. “I think you might be compromising said concentration, but I’ll give it a go. You ready?”

  She jerks her hips forward, my cock resting against the hot seam of her jeans, only a few layers of clothing separating us. “Forward, driver.”

  Wren

  We decide to head out for a late-afternoon walk after a lazy day in bed, a walk that soon turns into getting lost.

  “Where the hell are we?” I ask, noting how every damn tree looks the same around here.

  “If I was going to bet, I’d say somewhere down near old man Hubert’s property.”

  Carter’s dad owned a property out this way when we were younger. I think the boys liked it, a place where they could be free. I’d come on occasion, join the brothers. While Magnus was busy boozing it up with the Sheriff, the three of us would cause havoc in town or sunbake out on the deck. Carter once told me some of his happiest memories were made at that property, which I suppose is why he bought the cabin.

  The sun’s already set. Night falls fast, filling in the last traces of light.

  Carter crouches. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

  I come up to Carter’s side. He points. “Look.”

  There’s a big bonfire in a field ahead, a group of people gathered around it in a ring.

  He breathes in. “God, I love that smell.”

  “Do I need to be worried?” I whisper.

  He switches off the torch. “Let’s go in for a closer look.”

  “Aren’t we technically trespassing here?”

  “Live a little, Wren. You’re with me now. I’m a criminal, remember?”

  I roll my eyes. It’s hard to forget. “Alright, but if one of these hillbillies pulls a gun, I’m using you as a human shield.”

  “Be my guest,” he smiles.

  I follow Carter until we’re probably fifty yards from the bonfire. I can make out the people around it a clearer now, most of them men in hunting attire, beers in hand. From the sound of it, they’ve been drinking for a while.

  We’re in the tree line, what I imagine to be just out of sight here in the darkness, yet even from this distance my skin prickles from the heat of the fire.

  Carter carefully puts his pack down, placing his finger against his lips. He takes off his jacket, gently dropping it beside the pack.

  I mouth ‘What are you doing?’ when he pulls his T-shirt over his head, discarding it to the ground.

  Here we go again. Did he go to prison or a nudist colony?

  He undoes his belt, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down his legs with his underwear bundled inside, his cock bobbing free in the night air.

  He stands there naked. “Strip,” he whispers, lips feathering my earlobe.

  “Are you insane?” I whisper back.

  “Strip,” he replies, smiling.

  Fuck me.

  As I do, I can’t help but take in his body, his beautiful, long lashes drawing my gaze to his eyes, obsidian in the semi-darkness. His hair doesn’t exist, the color of night, a look on his face equal parts primal and raw.

  I take off my jacket, shirt, and pants unable to believe we’re doing this again, putting them down next my boots and careful to be as quiet as possible lest we alert the bonfire goers to our presence.

  I breathe in, reaching around to unclasp my bra, my panties soon following suit until we’re both standing there as nature intended.

  I have to admit, the sudden feeling of freedom is incredible.

  I hold my breath, knees tapping together.

  A breeze gathers behind me. I can smell the damp leaves under my feet.

  A quarter-moon sits low in a cloudless sky above.

  Carter moves to me. He’s so close I can smell his dampness. Deeper, there is an exotic scent, something intangible but intoxicating all the same. It closes off the part of me that wants to turn, to run. It is the animal below.

  He’s so close.

  I’m dirty and sweaty, a slickness growing between my thighs.

  Carter looks down between us. “You’re wet,” he whispers, voice light.

  I press my thighs tighter together, hot shame on my face.

  Carter stands until we’re chest to chest. He presses his fingers between my legs and draws his hand away sticky with my arousal. His eyes burn into me. He wipes a finger across his lower lip, the plump slug of it turned bright and glistening. He draws another finger down the side of his cheek, my desire smeared there in an arrowhead.

  There’s a needful pang between my legs, a sprout of pure wickedness extending.

  His hands run up my sides until they’re gathered around my neck, his hardness between us.

  Laughter comes from the bonfire.

  My bare nipples grow stiff against the night air, dark and dusky. Between my breasts lies the bird pendant Carter made for me, the small piece of him I’ve held so close for so long.

  His hands cover my pale breasts.

  His hot lips are against the side of my neck, then on my own.

  Our tongues play like liquid, cold and hot and constantly in motion. The urgency by which Carter takes me is a surprise, an urgent need drilling down into my own sopping core.

  I place my hands against the hard sides of his body and tremble against him, my own skin suddenly feeling far too tight.

  The bonfire continues to crackle on, spindly embers dancing into the night sky.

  His fingers close around my tender nipples between us. I cry out, voice muffled by his mouth. I pant into him, his tongue silencing me every time and the moon bathing us both in soft, indigo light.

  He nips at my top lip before sweeping down my neck, planting blooms of moisture before he takes a nipple into his mouth, his head tilting and eyes watching for my reaction. His lips are soft and pillowy, a complete juxtaposition to his hard jaw and body.

  He kneels onto the earth before me, hands on the soft summits of my hips.

  I push at the top of his head, still not sure I can do it in public like this. My cheeks burn brighter knowing he draws close to my sex. I am not used to having a man in such proximity, so close to my private areas.

  I watch the men at the bonfire. Surely they can see us, but no. We’re hidden here in the dark.

  Carter’s lips brush the light sponge rising from my pubis. His hands are closed around my rump. He watches me made silver by the moon. I wait for him to vanish, to evaporate before me, but no. This is no dream.

  My heart is pounding, face brushed with anxiety as he works. When his lips press against my wet lower lips, I buckle, a twisted and strained sound caught in my throat as I struggle to stay on my feet.

  “Carter,” I whimper.

  He speaks right into my burning, slick core. “I know.”

 
He touches me like I am a holy artifact, moving his head up and grounding his tongue into the hollow pond of my navel. The stubble on his chin rasps against my porcelain skin, my stomach clenching hard and my core flipping over itself in terror and delight.

  He loops around my navel before pressing me hard in the chest. I stumble backwards, tripping over my clothes and falling to the icy earth. Leaves crumple under my weight, my fingers clawing into the dirt, but before I can do anything he is upon me, coming up between my legs and drawing my thighs wide.

  His fingers shift under my backside, dig into the flesh of my ass, and there he presses his tongue forward, right into my burning center.

  His tongue moves back and forth in slow, agonizing strokes, exploring and testing. I sigh and quiver, digging my fingers deeper into the dirt as he finds the stiff bud at the top of my mound. He presses his tongue against it firmly, a master of seduction. He sweeps over it, pulling it into this mouth, sucking upon it until I am soaking and sticky below, my arousal mixing with the damp earth, everything hot and cloudy.

  He slides a finger inside me, stroking it leisurely in and out while he moves his tongue in time—licking, sucking, fucking me to completion. But more than anything, he tastes me, worshipping at my hidden altar.

  I grind down against him hard, one of my dirt-heavy hands running through his hair, holding him in place while I buck and tilt to take him deeper, anything to relieve the fire that burns below.

  He concentrates on the bud while I gasp helplessly, overwhelmed, ashamed, begging him to take me. My core drips and grows wetter. Whether it is desire I do not know, only that it pleases him, his tongue sweeping around the bottom of my pussy to collect and savor it.

  He adds another finger, stretching and probing further.

  My heels dig into the soil. I plant myself and lift my legs, my sex opening wide.

  I grow hotter, blood rushing in my ears and my climax so close I could reach out and capture it, but he won’t allow it. He comes away from my core, my arousal smeared on his lips and cheeks. In the moonlight it is black, an inky oil. He kisses the top of my thigh and leaves there a dark imprint.

  As he climbs my body, I see his hunger, the wild craving. I hang there on the precipice of release, my sex pulsing around the fingers still jammed into my slit. His thumb moves up to press against my clit, his fingers working and churning inside me, a light burn as I’m stretched to my breaking point.